Giving Grief

I've been working a lot more in the past month or so...the semester ended in early May and I needed to supplement my income somehow. I don't know if I will have a class in the fall or not-admissions are looking rather bleak lately, what with (can you guess??) the recession. I'm so sick of that word and that concept. But, despite my grumblings, it is having it's own direct and personal impact on us all, so who am I to complain? I got a second serving job, which seemed like a good idea at the time (money money money) but ended up being an unexpected test of my patience and self-worth.

Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I should backtrack a little. I did not go to college and graduate school to wait tables. Granted, I studied in the fine arts, which in a sense is it's own abstract death sentence, but my gut has always told me that I will not fare well psychically in a traditional job. I did once have a cubicle, and I spent the bulk of my time making a 'zine and abusing the free coffee cart. So. I have had pretty steady adjunct teaching jobs for the past three years, which has been such a great blessing and equalizer. I've always served part time when I'm teaching to bring in a little more green, because teaching isn't like winning the jackpot monetarily. One thing it does afford, however, is some measure of legitimacy socially, and a little bit of ego padding in a subulture that prides itself on being entrepreneurial and creatively dynamic. I have an office...I have office hours even...I have a roster of people who look to me for guidance and critique and support. It's a big girl job.

Serving, no matter how lucrative, doesn't carry with it the same kind of esteem. I guess it doesn't need to, even though it takes a lot of skill and finesse to be a good server. A lot of people who eat out don't realize it, but their server probably has an entire cavalcade of pursuits and endeavors that have nothing to do with how they make the bulk of their money. I understand that it is a very American concept to view that how you make your money is also how you identify yourself (and your self-worth??) A server doesn't necessarily have any training (I learned on the job in the beginning) and somehow that translates into a position of disrespect and even a tinge of cruel harassment. I've had people that I'm serving ask if I'm educated, where I went to high school, what I want to do when I grow up (ugh...), if I can count high enough to seat a table of 9. People huff and puff and use me as their social punching bag if the kitchen is out of something they wanted. They glare at me when I smile and greet them. They grab my arm to look at my tattoo. I become a kind of public property, without my consent. Serving is far more socially complex that it initially seems-you have to be able to read people, to multitask, to predict the future, to deliver disappointing news in such a way that doesn't disappoint, to maneuver awkward questions that aren't appropriate, you have to jump through hoop after hoop after hoop, like some kind of bedraggled circus freak. It gets even worse when the people behind the scenes are making it just as trying for you as the people in your section. When your head chef throws a piece of ham at you, thinking it's a cute move on his part (nevermind the absolute breach of any kind of professionalism, comraderie aside...) and then you stagger up to your table only to have the man ordering from you act like a total nightmare and to tell you that he's just "giving you grief" as if that is supposed to alleviate the irritation that has already twisted your shoulders into a knot and set your jaw like iron. "Giving grief." It's a very revealing phrase, because it's dramatic and personal and totally unnecessary. When I go into an establishment or an office or a department, I don't feel the entitlement or desire to give someone a hard time. I do not go into my guest's job and give him grief. Why is it acceptable to treat servers like this? Especially when they are being cordial and efficient and helpful? Why is the kitchen in turn treating the server like some kind of ragdoll, without a shred of respect for our mutually linked and stressful jobs?

The bright side to all of this is that I can be compensated sometimes around $50/hour for all this rigamarole. I can make in 3 days what some people make in a week. I can take a week off and not be penalized for it through my vacation or sick time (which, by the way, doesn't exist) nor do my benefits suffer (because I have none through my job!!)

Teaching, however, sets up a completely different set of social circumstances. There is order and a title and a classroom and deadlines decided by you. It's tough to move within the two worlds: server and teacher, and even more difficult to try to maintain a sense of your own adult identity.

I recently had an interaction with a woman that left me a little shaken in terms of my identity. I was waiting tables on a Sunday night, and everything was going well, when I had a two-top that included a woman whom I know from my time in graduate school. We didn't know each other super well, but she knows my photographic work, and she seems to like me well enough. When I greeted her table, she looked really surprised and remembered my name, and immediately blurted out, "What are you doing here?!" It really stunned me, because with those few words she immediately communicated to me so much more, so much dealing with her thoughts on what someone like me should and shouldn't be doing. Serving, to her, seemed beneath me? Serving meant that I was amounting to, well, not much ($40 an hour thanks.) I looked at her for a beat, and replied, "WORKING." I mean, what the hell else could I have said? The rest of our time together passed just fine, mostly because I made it so, but she did proceed to ask me if I still had time to make my work. I don't know if she is of the belief that every artist just finds money in the mail or under their shoe or in their paintbox, but she seemed REALLY shocked that I had to work to make my life happen. It's been a real effort to get over that sting, because even though I scoff at her ignorance and insensitivity, there is some validity to the idea of not doing what I would like to be doing, or at least getting paid for it.

Since I am serving so much, my body is getting beat up a little more, my fuze is a little shorter, but I'm trying so hard to keep a full and balanced life. I'm finding new ways to leave the grief at the restaurant, to shake off the stupid and invasive comments I field on an almost daily basis. I'm reconfiguring my free time to work for me, to bolster those little dark pockets of my mind that might be left bruised by working a double on Father's Day. I think if I can learn from this, even if I never have another teaching job again, it will help me set me course to a richer place. And I don't mean richer as in cash, although that would be nice.